


Traas

by Chocoholic777



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A very sad one-shot, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocoholic777/pseuds/Chocoholic777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I do not own the Skyrim game or anything else related to the Elder Scrolls franchise.  <br/>I have not made profit off of this piece of fiction.<br/>Joselin and story, however, belong to me.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Traas

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Skyrim game or anything else related to the Elder Scrolls franchise.   
> I have not made profit off of this piece of fiction.  
> Joselin and story, however, belong to me.

As the sun dipped behind the snow-capped mountains, the citizens of Riften retreated to their homes or religiously visited the Bee and Barb for their afterwork beverages of mead and daily doses of gossip. Torches were lit, bathing the streets in warm orange and yellow as guards leisurely patrolled their usual routes.

It was another regular evening within the stone and wooden walls of the infamous city; even the sight of a hooded individual clad in leathers was common to see.

The thief of Niruin drifted through the shadows, making his way through the back footpaths behind the bustling homes of Riften. He rounded some bends and turns to avoid drawing unwanted attention from citizens and the city guards. He could always bribe the guards into keeping their silence but the Bosmer was in no mood for it tonight. 

He stopped, then crouched behind a wooden barrel as a humming guard strolled past, oblivious to the hiding Mer.

He stalks along the wooden wall of the fisherman Bolli's house, peeking around the corner to check then consider the options open to him. Only a couple of guards were sighted, leaning against the wooden railing of the canal, discussing about the latest vampire attack on the city. Niruin shudders at the mentioning of those horrid creatures; he can tell you about his few unfortunate brushes with those viscous abominations, who shame him of his skill in stealth.

He reached up to tug his leather hood further down, readying himself in a sprint position before he dashed for the other building. He flattened himself against the wall. Waited a few moments, then Niruin continued his little journey with help from his conspiring friends of the shadows. He slinked past Haelga's Bunkhouse, nearing towards his destination; Honeyside. 

The thief stays in the shadows, swiftly stripping off his Guild's armour before he reaches into his large satchel to retrieve common clothes, dressing in them only leaving on his enchanted boots.   
Once Niruin was dressed decently, he went to the front door. 

He rapped his knuckles in a staccato rhythm, a secret knock familiar to him and the resident within. Pulling his hood down he combs his hair with his fingers, despite the feeling of dread festering in his stomach. The Bosmer waits in the dark, his keen hearing picking up the light footsteps coming to open the door.

~*~*~

Joselin lifts up the hatch then, with caution, opens the door. Despite wearing unfamiliar clothes and wearing his long red hair down, the Breton recognised the visitor as her brother-in-crime. Niruin.

She glanced away, swallowing drily. This was so uncharacteristic of her being painfully anxious. She tamed her apprehension, steeling herself to look up into the Wood Elf's hooded, dim eyes.

She steps aside, wordlessly inviting him into her home. He walks in. His footsteps sounded off as his gait was unfamiliar in its gloominess of dragging his light feet across the floor boards. 

He knows.

Despite the cozy, warm atmosphere of the welcoming wooden home, the two Riften residents felt cold as sorrow shrouds them, damping the bright fires of their lively spirits. 

Joselin shuts and locks her door to the city before treading into her kitchen and dining room, seeing Niruin standing close to the blazing fire. It was as if he tried to use the fire's heat to chase away the suffocating cold weighing down on his slouching posture. 

Minutes past before he finally turns away to face the anticipating Breton. The elf stands there, intensifying the wait for his first line of speech. Joselin rubbed at her arms to ebb away the growing panic she felt beneath her skin, threatening to burst its way out and consume her.

"So... You were seven weeks pregnant..." Was Niruin's leaden, melancholy statement. Joselin's breath hitched. Her hands clenched her cotton blue robes as she stared with shame and sadness. The usual brightness of his mahogany-gold eyes dimmed more so to a flat, murky brown. 

"You spent a week in Riften over a month ago; Delvin confirmed to me that the father was from this city." The Bosmer continued, his hallow tone caused her heart to tighten in angst. The archer looked to the short woman, stepping forward to lessen the uncomfortable gap between them.

"...The child was mine, wasn't it?" He hoarsely whispered, slightly choking on the fifth syllable. The crestfallen mage's eyes fell to his booted feet. Her short curtains of hair fall forward to partially cover her ashen face. She solemnly nodded.

A deep, heavy sigh penetrated the air besides the crackling of the burning logs of oak. The Bosmer turned to the side, shock freezing the core of his being. His hand flew into his hair, rubbing his scalp as he looked on in disbelief. He dragged himself over to the small, square dining table, collapsing into a chair. Niruin stared numbly at the flickering orange and yellow flames, the light strengthened the shadows of his angular features to make his face appear more drawn than it actually is; the emphasis may resemble the dark emotions plaguing him. 

Joselin approaches him, placing her dainty palm on his straining shoulder. 

"I was going to tell you... But I was hesitant as my fear of what your reaction might be discouraged me. I ran out of the poisons I was taking, to avoid pregnancy, when I got back over a month ago. I just returned from a long ship journey from Solstheim. I was driven mad with desperation and loneliness," She paused in her explanation, thinking back to her time of stupidity. "I knew I shouldn't have fooled myself into thinking I won't get pregnant, but I did; I was careless!" The Breton exclaimed, tears shining in her pitiful eyes.

"Was it the poison that caused you to miscarry?..." He numbly inquired her. Joselin bit her lip, her mind conjuring up that awful memory. 

The day started off as normal - there were no warnings that indicated her eventual loss of her child. She was haggling the price over selling a emerald silver necklace to Madesi, when a fierce shot of agony momentary gripped her. Joselin closed her eyes as she remembered her astonishment at the sudden burst of pain, then looking down in alarm as hot liquid streamed down her legs, staining the fabric of her skirt. She breathed in deeply as she recalled her sheer panic, watching in horror as a small pool of crimson formed at her feet. She remembered her yelling of horror, ignoring a pair of arms picking her up as she was urgently rushed to the temple of Mara. Oh gods, how she felt the hot blood sieve through her ruined skirt, running down Mjoll's armour and dripping onto the ground below; it left a thin but vivid red trail for the shocked townspeople.

The event of the Thane of Riften's public miscarriage spread faster than the speed of a shock spell. Word reached everyone in most of the holds, especially the Thieves Guild, as the then petrified Breton was clutching onto her Housecarl as the priests of Mara did everything they could to help. Dinya Balu managed to stop the bleeding as her apprentice concealed and took away the unborn life that was lost. 

The Thane of the Rift had to stay at the temple for three nights, bedridden as she recovered the worst from her physical and emotional wounds. They had casted spells of calm to stabilise her from going into fits of shock. When she was deemed stable enough to return home, Maramal prescribed her concoctions to help her sleep. Her Housecarl of Iona escorted the Breton back to her home during the wee hours of the morning, most of the town still slumbering away.

Joselin went down on her knees, trembling as she fought back the tears blurring her vision, smudging the form of Niruin and her furnishings.

"Yes..." She miserably confessed. "If I was serious in having a baby, my supplier instructed me to wait at least two months for the poison to wash out from my system. I have to drink a vial before or after I have sex; I can take it three days later. You see, once I get pregnant without allowing time for the poison to pass, a miscarriage will happen inevitably. The poison is specifically crafted to halt any life taking form in my body; this takes affect between the first and second semester if I don't drink a vial before the life takes root within my womb. I was a fool in delaying the termination; I thought I had enough time to tell you! I wanted to tell you and explain the circumstances before I had the pregnancy terminated! I couldn't buy Elgrim's own batch because I can't mix different poisons; I would've been seriously ill if I had done! I'm sorry Niruin! I'm so s-s-sor-" Joselin broke down in tears as sobs rattled her form. 

Niruin pulled the hysterical Breton close, hugging her tightly as he allowed delayed tears of his own to trickle down his thin cheeks. He buried his face into her hair, the earthy brown locks muffling the sounds of sorrow spilling from the noble-raised elf.

The two cried in their embrace. Niruin kissed the temple of Joselin's head as her trembling fingers massaged the chilled nape of his neck.

Afterwards the two thieves sat together before the open fire, neither preventing themselves from thinking about their lost unborn child.

What would it been like? 

Would it have been a boy or a girl? 

Would it have taken after it's Breton mother or Bosmer father in physical appearance? 

Would it have the enchanting silver-emerald eyes of its mother and the sleek, fiery auburn hair of its father?

Would it follow it's parents' footsteps as thieves? Or would its interests lie in the arcane arts?

Those pointless but painful curious questions flooded Joselin's and Niruin's minds. The Breton tightened her long fingers around the elf's yellow ochre hand, squeezing it a moment longer to silently tell him of her understanding and compassion. The Bosmer ran his thumb along the back of her small hand, stroking the soft milky skin, reciprocating his own compassion and comfort to his sister-in-crime.

The two quietly wallow in their grief for the rest of the evening, until the spell of misery was broken when Iona returned from Elgrim's Elixirs.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, it's a very angsty fill...   
> Did this when I was particularly down, which I took out on one of my Dovahkiins being my Spell-sword Thief-Mage, Joselin. I also wanted to test out how Niruin would be like when he's deep in sorrow. I think the miscarriage may have been a bit over the top, since I did looked it up to check its validity, but Joselin was consuming poisons so my made-up explanation on its devastating effects.
> 
> The title translates to "Grief". 
> 
> Anyway, I'll get back to writing more up-beat pieces soon enough.


End file.
